Page 80 of The Duke's Dream
Her body jolted. A cry tore from her throat.
Leaning forward, he cupped her breasts from behind, molding them in his hands. Then he bent low, brushing his lips over the tender spot just below her ear.
"Scream my name, Helene."
Mumbling in French, she shook her head.
He withdrew again, slowly, letting her feel every inch leave her.
She groaned in frustration.
"Come back inside me," she gasped, voice hoarse with need.
He obeyed—but on his terms.
One slow thrust, and he was sheathed again. A shudder raced through her as her body clenched around him. He began to move—grinding into her with rhythmic power, retreating almost entirely, then plunging back in. Her hips met his in wild harmony, her moans rising in pitch, threaded with mewling cries that drove him insane.
Her pleasure filled the room. Every gasp. Every moan. Every sweet, broken sound.
Still, he wanted more. Not just her voice. Not just her body.
Her soul.
With a swift motion, he pulled out and rolled her onto her back. Her flushed skin glowed, slick and shining. Her hair was a wild halo. Her thighs fell open for him, no hesitation, only need.
He slid between them, pressing her hips into the mattress. With one thrust, he was inside her again, their bodies aligning perfectly, heart to heart.
"I can't—please."
She writhed beneath him, her breath coming in ragged sobs of pleasure.
With her hair plastered over her face, whipping wildly as he pounded her sweet sex, she was his every erotic fantasy come true, and yet he stayed firm, controlling himself and her.
He leaned down, lips brushing her ear, voice low and smoky. "Look at us."
Her eyes fluttered open, and he tilted her face to the mirror.
"See how beautiful you are."
Their gazes locked in the glass.
She moaned at the sight—the way her body moved against his, the contrast of her naked form tangled with his clothed one, the sheen of sweat, the rawness of pleasure.
He ground his hips into her, rubbing his pelvis against her clit, then reached down to flick it, again and again.
She thrashed, she begged, she arched, she trembled.
"Fly, love," he whispered, lips against her temple. "I'll catch you."
And fly she did.
Passion ignited in her gaze, glittered like sunlight on water across her damp skin, crescendoed in her breath, and poured from her sex in slick, pulsing waves.
"William," she cried, her voice breaking. "William!"
His name on her lips, in her body, was the most sacred prayer he'd ever heard.
He angled his hips and gave her exactly what she needed—deep friction that stroked her from the inside out.
